


egypt 2.0

by veterization



Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veterization/pseuds/veterization
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy comes back to Egypt to check in on one of Dylan's tours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	egypt 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> This story marks the start of my contributions to the Nancy Drew holiday extravaganza because what even is Christmas without a little porn. I decided to write this up on the spot when the idea came to me last night halfway through writing another story, because my mind is just that easily distracted. I've also realized, with Frank as the exception, I very much enjoy Nancy with men with accents.

"What a fantastic question, Mrs. Clark. The gift shop hasn't actually been built yet."

Tipping his hat with a boyish wink in the direction of the plump, noisy woman at the front of the group, Dylan pulls the crowd with him to the next room with a wave of his hand. The charm, Nancy realizes pretty quickly, has not changed, nor has his ability to work a crowd. She wonders if the rest has actually changed.

It's a hot day. Actually, it's been a hot week. The middle of summer might not have been the best time to visit Egypt again, but the idea of returning without the threat of curses and uncovering ancient tombs was extremely tempting. Last time, she thinks, was a bit too stressful to actually appreciate anything more than just how annoying a sandstorm can be, not to mention that this time she actually has Bess and George with her to enjoy the surroundings.

"And this," Dylan's voice booms over the murmuring crowd, "is where many researchers believed a curse originated when the doors opened—the ancient Egyptians weren't all too happy with people mucking in their things, you know."

"Is it safe?" a man asks from the side. Dylan flashes a bright smile in his direction.

"Of course. The ancient Egyptians were very lenient when it came to tourists."

Nancy rolls her eyes as the crowd breaks into another murmur. She will admit, one plus side to her last trip included a complete lack of crowds she didn't even realize would severely cut into her ability to explore. She and Bess woke up at the crack of dawn just to grab tickets to the morning showing of the Great Pyramids, to say nothing of the pushing and shoving. She had overseen this little detail when she helped look for Nefertari without the annoyance of families of seven pushing past her while toddlers screamed about the stuffiness, an experience she now gets to endure with the heat of a sweltering July day pulsing down on her as well.

The large crowds, however, should at least prove the point that Dylan has no reason to keep up his underhanded dealings in the black market to make quick cash, which is, after all, one of the reasons she had asked to make a quick stop to the pyramids. A quick inquiry at the tourist desk was all it took to learn that an illustriously charismatic _Mr. Carter_ was leading an eleven o’clock tour group through the Great Pyramids while Bess and George opted out and headed instead for the Sphinx. Nancy wonders if she had divulged how cute Dylan was if Bess would be at her side right now, craning her neck to get a better view.

It was something she had been looking forward to, actually. The last time she had spoken to him, a few months ago by now when she had popped by the hospital to let him know how the case wrapped up before going home, he had seemed genuinely ashamed to be caught in the middle of underhand dealings with Abdullah, especially after having learned of his attempt to kill Nancy. Lying in the bed with casts under the sternness of her stare, he had seemed sheepish, almost apologetic, and willing to attempt to be a better person. She knows perfectly well that some people can never resist the allure of eluding the law, but in this case, she thinks that Dylan has the capacity to turn his ways around. A quick check-in on his wrongdoings doesn’t hurt either.

“Any other questions before we wrap up our tour?”

Nancy raises her hand, holding it high above the heads in front of her. 

"Ah, I see a hand in the back," Dylan says. "Can we shift a tad, ladies and gentlemen."

The crowd shuffles, parting to the left and right until Nancy gets a clear view of Dylan, his eyes roving the crowd until they land on her. The recognition is obvious in his eyes in an instant, and to Nancy’s satisfaction, the light of guilt she expected to see in him like a thief caught by the police is missing, replaced instead with a fond smirk after the surprise melts away. 

"Ah. Lady in the striking blue blouse."

He grins at her, recovered from his shock in a matter of seconds. She smirks, clearing her throat. "I just wanted to ask if you've worked at this pyramid for very long."

Dylan tilts his head, his hat tipping with it. "Long enough to be completely qualified," he says with a broad grin. "They don't let just anyone be a tour guide, you know."

He tips his hat in her direction before righting it once more, the crowd shifting back into place after parting. His cheek earns him a few giggles from the middle of the crowd.

"All right, that's it for the tour." He claps his hands together. "Feel free to explore the tomb and be merry. Try not to steal anything off the walls, or a mummy will probably follow you home. Good luck, then."

The crowd disperses in a sea of mumbles, squeezing their way through the various exits while small children try to wrangle their way to the walls to leave sticky handprints on the limestone. The stuffiness of the pyramid lessens just enough to take a breath when the group thins out.

Nancy doesn't leave. She came here on purpose, after all, to check in with Dylan and see if he's kept the promise he was so reluctant to make. Abdullah's arrest should've been a wake-up-call for him in terms of shady deals if nothing else, and maybe he's awoken to a new moral high ground. Nancy doubts that he’s done a complete one-eighty, but she sure as hell isn't here for nothing. She'll give him a piece of her mind if he's still scheduling illegal deals behind the law's back.

A finger taps her on the back.

"Say, do I know you from somewhere?"

She turns around, and there, with a cocky smirk and his hat tipped at a jaunty angle, Dylan stands. It's oddly nice to see him again, tanned from the sun and sparkling with sweat from the strong heat. She raps her chin, playing along.

"Not sure," she says. "Were you the guy involved in all those illegal, shady deals the last time I was in Egypt?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course you brought that up," he says. “I’d expect nothing less. You’re practically like a parole officer.”

“Just doing my job.”

The exasperation evident on his face falls away to make room for an affectionate smile. "Oh, come here already."

He pulls her into his arms, squeezing her in a long hug. His entire body is warm, his hat nudging her hair when he tugs her to his chest. She pats him on the back, getting a generous whiff of his aftershave that's doing a fair job of keeping the stench of working in a hot pyramid all day long at bay. She chuckles at his forwardness as he sways her from side to side as if they're old pals, which then again, she supposes they are. Saving someone from a cave-in and then conspiring together over phone calls does that sometimes.

"Why are you here?" he asks her when he pulls back, readjusting his hat. "Not that I mind seeing a familiar face around here every now and again."

"Can you blame me if the last trip left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth?"

"What? You mean you didn't enjoy almost being buried alive in a tomb?" Dylan shakes his head. "Ludicrous."

An impatient family pushes their way into the room, a mother rapidly speaking French leading the way and bumping into Nancy as they shove their way through with four chattering kids. Nancy watches the way they smear their hands along the walls as they trot along.

"Looks like business is booming," she says, arching an eyebrow. "Or is there still room for extra cash in your pocket?"

"Nancy, there's always room for extra cash in my pocket." He grins, and then sobers up a moment later. He slides his hand onto her shoulder. "Honestly, I've gone totally straight. I've been a perfect model citizen since you left."

Nancy narrows her eyes. "Really?"

"Really." He nods. "It was tempting, trust me. Believe it or not, every time I thought about it I had your voice nagging at me in my head. It was awful."

She laughs. It would be a quick and easy lie to tell if he wanted to fib his way out of her questions, but he sounds just frustrated enough at his own morality that she believes him. A wave of pride sweeps over her at the idea of actually making an impact on someone as dependent on the black market as Dylan was, something she rarely accomplishes on a case. Typically, people like the easy way out too much to let it go.

"Well, then I'm glad I made a difference," she says. “Ethics look good on you.”

"It's _infuriating_ ," Dylan groans. "Being good all the time. How do you do it?"

She lets out a bout of laughter. "You think I'm good all the time?"

"You're not?" He raises an eyebrow, clearly curious. "That's something I'd definitely like to see for myself."

The way he says it—voice pitched slightly lower than necessary, eyes locked onto hers—surprises Nancy with how it runs through her like a shot of heat completely different from the overwhelming warmth of the pyramid. She looks away when a tingle laces its way up her spine.

"You don't ever stop flirting, do you?" she asks, her smile tight. She remembers how he was the last time— _what do you say you and I see the world together?_ —full of winks and grins and a charming accent. It had hardly fazed her at the time, probably because she was concentrated wholly on finding Nefertari and figuring out who to trust aside from John. Now, without a case to grab her focus, the flirting is affecting her more than she expected.

"Maybe you just bring it out in me," he says. He touches her wrist with his thumb a moment later. "Where are you staying?"

"At least thirty minutes away by taxi," she says. "I take it you live around here?"

"I do. Amazing how residential the area is, right? The Sphinx is practically staring at a Starbucks," he leans in close, as if sharing a conspiratory secret. "They never show that part on the Discovery Channel."

"No, they don't."

His thumb climbs up her wrist to hold onto her forearm, lightly squeezing her elbow. "Come on," he says. "I'll show you my place."

Nancy laughs as he pulls her out of the room past the clumps of tourists mingling through the pyramid. "Don't you have to work?"

Dylan pulls her past another room, leading her past the entrance she went through to an alternate exit. He puts a finger up to his lips and throws her another wink. "No one will know," he whispers. His hand slides down her forearm to her hand, his fingers gripping hers. "Keep that secret and prove to me just how bad you can be, Nancy Drew."

It sounds like an innuendo, but Nancy maintains it's the heat that makes her flush. The heat.

\--

"So how did you like the tour?"

Dylan's apartment, located in a tall building that probably used to be a resplendent white and has now turned into a shade reminiscent of dishwater, looks exactly how Nancy imagined: somehow simultaneously cluttered while also appearing as if no one has ever lived in it for longer than a week. It makes her wonder if he hops living spaces a lot, skipping out before rent rises or refusing to be an easy, stationary target for the men he used to do undercover deals with. It seems very in-tune with his character.

"It was exactly what I expected," Nancy says as she makes herself comfortable on the stool by the kitchen counter. "Lots of jokes. No real knowledge."

"Ouch," Dylan says from where he's pouring juice into glasses by the fridge. "I skate by on charm, don't I?"

"That, you do."

Dylan carries two glasses over to the counter Nancy's seated at. The view from the window, not too far away from the fridge, is breathtaking, skyscrapers and the very tips of pyramids in sight while the city bustles on below with loud honks. It's a busier side of Egypt she didn't get the chance to see last time, not when the most populated area she got to stay in was the sleeping tent by the dig site.

She lets her eyes rove over the apartment while she’s at it. A few sun hats on the crooked coffee table, a handful of tourist pamphlets scattered together on the brown couch. A pile of shoes by the door to what she assumes is Dylan’s bedroom, the door ajar just enough that she catches sight of an unmade bed. Seeing it feels more intimate than it should. Typically, someone’s house, especially their bedroom, is just another place to hide secrets, another room for Nancy to investigate. Now, without a case to carry with her, sitting in Dylan’s home feels strangely personal.

Dylan pulls her out of her thoughts by sliding a pale glass full of maroon juice to her over the counter. It doesn’t look like something she’s drunk before, and she picks it up with a questioning arch of her eyebrow.

"It's hibiscus juice. Big in Egypt. Ever had it in before?" Dylan answers for her before she can ask. Nancy shakes her head. "You'll love it."

He tips his glass up to meet hers, the clink loud in the apartment aside from the noise of the streets below. She’d be surprised that he can afford the rent of an inner-city apartment if the condition of the place didn’t already solve that mystery for her. Well, she thinks, taking in the musty smell of the walls, it’s at least an honest living.

She tries the juice after Dylan takes a long swig of his own glass. It has a flowery taste, something that lingers pleasantly on her tongue. "It's good. Reminds me of blackberries," she says, taking another sip.

He takes his hat off while she lets the new taste settle on her tongue, ruffling the flat hair underneath. He looks better this way, less like the tour guide who flirts with the elderly ladies who hobble through the tours and sits in the sun on dig sites he's not cleared to explore. He has something going for him, some bad boy charisma that Nancy finds oddly appealing when he's not knee deep in illegal dealings.

"Wipe that look off your face," Dylan says suddenly. "Yes, I do have hair under my hat."

He pets the tuft that's near his forehead, raking his hands through it as if to show off the fullness of his hair lest she thought he was hiding a hopelessly bald head under his hat. She laughs despite herself.

"Impressive," she says. "You had me thinking there was a recessive hairline you were worried about."

"I knew it." He winks again. Nancy shouldn't be so amused. "No, nothing recessive. Just a healthy appreciation for the sun."

He taps his sunglasses to reassure her of this fact as he pulls them off where they're slung around his neck. Even though the fans are rattling in the corners, Dylan's apartment is still warm, the air conditioning of the building clearly not strong enough to keep up with the Egyptian summer. She looks at Dylan's shirt where he's undone the topmost buttons to accommodate the heat, revealing a smattering of dark chest hairs. 

"You know what I especially like about this juice?" Dylan asks. There's an odd glint in his eyes as he taps the glass. "It sort of... tints your mouth. Like lipstick, almost."

Nancy colors as he says it, her tongue darting out to lick over her lips. She wonders if it's true, if her mouth has darkened to a blotchy burgundy, and if that's why Dylan's been looking at her lips for the past few minutes. 

"Here," he murmurs, and then his thumb is rubbing over her bottom lip.

He keeps it there, on her mouth, unmoving. They both stay frozen for a second, maybe more, and when Nancy says nothing, makes no move to slide away, his hand slips to her hair to pull her in for a kiss.

He's an insanely good kisser, which doesn't bode well for Nancy and her original plan to pull away. His teeth slide over her bottom lip in a soft bite, tugging her closer with hands that card into her hair and rake over her scalp, every part of him skilled in the way he draws her to him, angles their lips together, deepens the kiss. So that charm has gotten him somewhere over the years, Nancy thinks, even if all it's done is taught him how to use his tongue.

She ought to be pulling back, her brain reminds her. She’s supposed to be teaching him about morals, not letting him pull her down into his pool of questionable ethics—but the idea of pulling away now seems _preposterous_. He lets loose a soft groan into her mouth, his tongue brushing hers, and Nancy sinks into it. She kisses back.

“You’re all right with this?” Dylan asks her, pulling away for a moment. She notices then that his lips do look darker, not to mention that they tasted sweet. She wants to kiss him again, lick into his mouth until the hibiscus juice is gone. She wonders briefly if the heat has gone to her head.

“Yes,” she finally says. She’s on vacation, she’s not on a case, and she’s aching to touch him again. She makes the snap decision to not overthink it and winds her arms around his shoulders. “See, not as good as you think.”

She pulls him back in. This kiss is harder, less experimental like their first kiss. She lets herself appreciate the way he holds her, his hands sliding up her back to encircle her waist while his mouth angles against hers. His chin brushes her, thick with overgrown stubble.

"How long are you staying in Egypt?" Dylan says, his words hot oh her mouth as their lips brush. His hand travels up her blouse as he speaks, tickling up her sides—teasingly, temptingly.

"Long enough," she says, reeling Dylan back in by his shirt.

He makes a noise, a word half-started that ends up being muffled between their mouths. She doesn't want to hear his one-liners anymore, she wants to feel him touch her, come closer, put that mouth to better use.

But he still has more to say. "You came with friends, surely?" His mouth is still on hers, slick where they touch and move together. His teeth sink down on her bottom lip again. "Won't they wonder where you are?"

She almost laughs. Bess and George are hopelessly used to her wandering off by now, usually into another mystery. "Don't worry about it."

He chuckles. Somehow she can hear his accent through it. "I won't," he promises, and then his hand pushes her shirt out of the way and cups her bra. 

It's all very brazen, just like his personality. Hanging out at new dig sites trying to woo his way into the tomb, asking her to travel the world with him, pulling off her shirt without any pretense. It's the opposite of how Ned treats her, fragilely, carefully, like he's unsure of what to do, where to touch. She finds she like sit better this way—the rougher, surer way.

One of his fingers slides up her bra to play with the strap, running a fingertip under it. He likes to tease, Nancy sees this instantly, especially when his mouth travels down to her neck and latches on her pulse point, gently biting down at the sensitive skin there. Her hands fly up to his shoulders to keep him in place, her reflexes apparently fully on board with the idea of this, of being here with him. If anything, her libido seems to awaken further, urging her to press herself closer and kiss him harder.

Her impatience gets the better of her. She didn't have time for his teasing last time, and she doesn't now either. She unbuttons her blouse herself, shrugging it off while Dylan's lips drag down her jugular to her collarbone. She feels his mouth spread into a grin on her chest when he sees her arms slipping out of the sleeves, her chest bare save for her bra.

"Still wearing too much, I think," he says, unbuttons her jeans, and slips his hand inside.

It draws a gasp out of her. It’s been a while since she’s been touched with sexual purpose like this, especially with hands other than her own. She’s discovered what she likes, but apparently, he can read her needs just as well. He still teases, only touching her through her underwear, delighting in the way she shudders and arches against him. She yanks his shirt off his head while he does so, his eyes watching her carefully as if waiting for pleasure to take over her face, see her perfectly poised detective's neutrality slip. His other hand unclasps her bra, letting it fall down her arms while his fingers roll over her stiffened nipples. He's definitely a multitasker, Nancy will give him that much, with one hand stroking her through her underwear, the other teasing her chest, and his mouth nibbling up her chin.

It's almost overkill at one point, every nerve in her body sensitive to the touches that seem to come from everywhere, her senses on overdrive as his body shifts closer to hers, spreading her legs so he can wedge between them. The apartment is still hot and seems to only be getting hotter still, the sweat on her brow starting to feel tangible as she stills the wrist teasing her through her panties.

"Dylan," she nearly grits out, squirming. "Enough."

"Enough?" he repeats, sounding smugger than ever. "You sure?"

"Take them off," she says, digging her fingernails into his wrist. He snickers, his tongue darting out to lick over her ear as if to mollify her.

"Your wish, my command. You'll just have to let go of me first," he tilts his captive wrist in her grip, "unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case you're much badder than I thought you were."

She lets go of him, letting out a huff of laughter. He's infuriating, how he lets his charm and his accent and apparently his _tongue_ do the work for him, and even more infuriating how Nancy's turned on by it. She wants to be touched, wants to be brought to the brink, and showcases this impatience by pressing her hips into Dylan's.

It makes his breath hitch and seems to motivate him to follow directions, starting with sliding her jeans down her hips and letting her underwear follow. She kicks it off once her pants pool down at her knees, the lack of constricting fabric refreshing in the hot air. It feels like she's back in the sun, skin searing where Dylan's touching her, constantly touching. 

The clingle of a belt buckle alerts her once more as Dylan removes his shorts, shoving them aside the moment he slips them off his legs. His tan lines are more obvious now without his clothes to conceal them, the contrast of his skin a reminder of how much time he spends baking in the sun, leading tours around in the heat. She lets her hands explore, running them over his chest and his stomach, the beginning of muscles fluttering under her palms, as if he’s just attempted to start half-heartedly work out. It fits him to a T, only interested in doing things with minimal effort—except, perhaps, sex.

"So no more illegal deals?" Nancy asks, just to make sure. "Just tours?"

Dylan grins. "Darling, I'm a model citizen."

He slips a finger inside her then, his grin widening when her body jolts in surprise while his thumb rubs over her clit. He knows what he's doing and knows as much, his assertive touches evident of that. Nancy wishes she didn't find it so refreshing, being touched with such certainty, especially when he leans in to kiss her again and swipes his tongue over her bottom lip and the result is a shiver that runs through her from head to toe.

"Jump up," he murmurs on Nancy's mouth.

"What?"

"Trust me." He pats the counter, stopping first to squeeze her bare ass. Nancy doesn't know how she became naked so quickly, how her clothes are now haphazardly strewn over the floor, how Dylan is helping her up onto the kitchen counter so he can explore her body more easily. She'd laugh at the absurdity if she wasn't already otherwise occupied.

His mouth trails away from hers, stopping to bite her jaw. She has the sneaking suspicion he's looking to leave marks, possessive footprints of his presence that she'll have to explain away to her friends tomorrow. She winds her hand into his hair and gives it the slightest of yanks to keep his teeth at bay.

"All right, now if you'll just relax..."

He winks at her, a roguish batting of the eye before he slides down her chest and presses open-mouthed kisses down her stomach. He's using his Tour Guide voice, something Nancy doesn't appreciate being the subject of.

"This isn't a tour," she reminds him, and then his mouth goes lower and lower still and—oh. " _Oh_."

Her complaint dies right there. Dylan seems to notice, a throaty chuckle leaving his throat that seems to vibrate on Nancy's clit. His tongue could probably win awards for this. It's fast, thorough, completely mind-boggling in the way it's pulling all coherence from Nancy's brain with a truly startling efficiency, darting out to lick her, taste her. Her hand reaches out for something to hold and ends up fisted in Dylan's hair, soft where it's usually shielded by a hat, while his tongue runs up and down her clit.

His fingers slip back into her while his mouth sucks on her, two this time, crooking inside her and setting up a rhythm. His tongue moves in fast circles around her while his fingers fuck her, spreading her, preparing her. She realizes then that she wants him inside her, wants to feels the heat of his cock, and lets out a soft groan at the revelation.

She must be hurting him at this point with the way she's clutching onto his hair, tugging with every soft noise that escapes her mouth. She might be embarrassed if it wasn't for the way her brain has fogged over with pleasure, focused whole-heartedly on the way Dylan's humming on her clit. Not even the din of traffic wafting up to the apartment from the streets below distract her, as if someone's turned the volume down on the world.

She winds her legs around his shoulders while his free hand runs up her leg, back down again, back up, thumb pressed into her inner thigh. It makes Nancy's whines hang in her throat, steal her breath as moans threaten to fall loose, and it only encourages Dylan that much more. He doesn't relent, his assault on her clit continuing as he flattens his tongue over it while his fingers pump inside her, the burn of his stubble on her thigh pushing her closer.

She could come like this, and soon if he keeps up the flicks of his tongue with the tempo of his fingers. Dylan's alternating between forceful sucks of her clit to circling his tongue around her, arousing her to the point of—yes, yes, just a bit more—

"Should I make you come now," Dylan murmurs, pulling back from her and slowing down the rhythm of his fingers to something slower, lazier, "and then again later when I fuck you?"

It's tempting, the idea of coming twice, once on his tongue and once more when he's inside her, but she doesn't want to see the satisfaction wash over his face and hear him chuckle when she loses it the first time, hands tight in his hair and thighs quivering. She shakes her head and yanks him up by the arms, widening her legs to let him step between. She wants him inside her, wants to see his face when she winds her legs around him.

He would probably laugh at her impatience if he wasn't already distracted by the idea of fucking her. She sees the way it cuts his breath short, how he's hard in his boxers, how he doesn't waste time fumbling for his shorts to pull his wallet out and snag a condom from the inside. It'd be the sort of self-assured move that would make Nancy roll her eyes anytime but now when she can do little but appreciate the fact that he's prepared for this.

"I have to say, Nancy Drew..." he starts to say. She shakes her head, not wanting to listen to him talk anymore.

"Stop talking," she demands, and goes to splay her fingers over his mouth. He catches them in his before she can, squeezing her palm. 

"...you're a pleasant surprise."

He cocks his head as if waiting for her to shush him again, but she's oddly flattered that here, in the middle of sex, he's still interested in shooting her compliments. She scoots closer on the counter just as he steps out of his boxers and bites the condom wrapper open with his teeth, followed by the packet of lube in his other hand, and then, with a sharp bite to her shoulder, he slides into her.

Her shoulder stings, sure to leave a mark, but the pain is swallowed a moment later when he slips inside. That, for once, actually does succeed in shutting him up, mouth open in a silent _o_ and eyes closed as she wraps her legs around him. The counter is the perfect height for this, perfectly aligning them, and Nancy shifts her hips to encourage him to move.

"Just a second," he says, talking through his teeth, as if restraining himself. "I'm just—wow."

She laughs. There's something funny about the way his face has contorted into something perfectly blissful, rendering him speechless as he slides out of her and back in. He’s bigger than she expected, thick inside her as he works up enough self-control to set a pace.

The rhythm he builds up is different from the one he had with his fingers. For one, it's stronger, his hips snapping into her with a force that pulls the breath from her lungs like a vacuum, and secondly, it's slower. Of course he would tease her here too, as if only to have her fist his hair and ask for more so he can deliver exactly what she wants. 

He cups her breast as he moves his hips, his thumb swiping over her nipple to tease it to a point. His left hand wanders further down, rubbing circles over her hips, over her thighs, not ever close enough. She bucks her hips, impatient and impossibly aroused, and grabs Dylan by the nape of the neck.

“Dylan,” she growls. “Please.”

“What do you want?” he asks, and she delights in the fact that his breathing has gone haggard, his chest heaving as he pushes back into her. He’s set up a torturously slow pace, waiting for her to beg, waiting to hear her plead. “Me to touch you?”

His accent has gone rough, like dripping honey. His thumb finds her clit again, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. She keens, her hips rolling up into the touch, and digs her nails into his neck where his hair goes bristly. 

“Faster,” she demands. The sound of her own voice, commanding and hoarse, surprises her.

“Got it,” Dylan says, and pushes in harder right where he should and, oh, now it’s like every thrust is a firework behind her eyes. “Not made of glass, I suppose?”

“No,” she says, and this time when they kiss, it’s hungry. Dylan’s sped up his pace at her request, every push of his hips pulling a breathy grunt from his throat that falls straight on her shoulder. His stubble is rough on her cheek where they’re pressed together, the hand on her clit moving faster, mercilessly.

Nancy feels herself getting closer, the pressure building inside her until it’s strong enough to block out everything but the way Dylan’s hand is digging into her side, his mouth is on her jaw, his dick is pulsing inside her. This is what she’s needed for a while, a way to release the tension after a trying case or another near-death experience, a raw want Ned never picked up on. She clutches at Dylan, ready to come, and tries to warn him by pressing her fingers into his back.

“Dylan,” she breathes out, but that’s as much as she can manage. It’s too much by now, the pleasure like spasms coiling up her muscles, and she feels her orgasm rip through her like a whirlwind, demanding and strong and unrelenting.

She grips him as she comes, mouth open and muscles lax where she’s wound them around Dylan’s hips. He notices the way her body convulses around him, his nose brushing her ear as he thrusts in once, twice, four more times and then he’s stilling, hips stuttering.

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” he’s saying in nothing but pants. His body is heavy on hers like a puppet without strings, his ragged breaths warm where they fall on her shoulders. It feels, for a moment, like time suspends in the lingering waves of her orgasm, circling through her like a relaxing tide. 

When he pulls out of her, a moan falls from her mouth. Everything feels sensitive now, the skin on her shoulders tingling, the muscles of her thighs shaking, and for a few seconds, moving seems like an impossible feat. Dylan taps her on the jaw after a minute—possibly more—the usual cockiness in his grin making way for something less confident, more content.

"Admit it," Dylan says, "you came to Egypt to see me."

His hand reaches Nancy's temple, sweeping a misfit strand of hair out of the way. 

She laughs, breathless and sated. His accent gets thicker when he's relaxed, she realizes, and it's unfairly alluring.

“I’ll admit no such thing,” she says, and he frowns at her with a cheeky pout that she refuses to be endeared by. He’s still wedged between her thighs, impossibly close and warm. There’s still a smattering of sweat on his forehead and a steady heat to his skin, but right now, Nancy can’t imagine slipping to her feet and managing to walk on her legs. 

Dylan leans in close enough to brush their lips again, this time pulling her into a kiss that’s languid and lazy. She sinks against his chest, winding her arms around his shoulders, feeling remarkably loose-limbed. Her phone, still in the pocket of her jeans, will probably trill sooner or later with messages from Bess sending her camera phone pictures of the pyramids.

“Anybody else feel like one of those Lego people who were removed from their legs?” he asks, sagging against her and running his nose down her neck. He laughs against her collarbone, the sound rumbling through her as his fingertips tickle up her backside. “That was… yes, I’d like to do that at least twenty more times.”

And the thing is, she could imagine it. Spending the rest of her time in Egypt in Dylan’s sweaty apartment letting him explore her body with his tongue while he calls in sick for work, letting Bess and George know that she’ll be slightly busy for the rest of the vacation. The fact that she’s considering it makes her laugh.

“I actually want to explore Egypt, you know,” she tells him. “Unless your place is secretly the highlight of Cairo?”

“Never mentioned in pamphlets. Very unfair.” He picks his head back up where he’s buried it in Nancy’s neck. The corner of his mouth is quirked upwards. “I could always show you Egypt.” He arches an eyebrow in suggestion. “Show you the rest of the world, too.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten your proposition.” _Admit it, you would have fun seeing the world with me_. All right, maybe she would. “You might need a bit more money first before you start taking girls on world tours.”

“Possibly,” he says. He prods her in the shoulder. “How about this. You check in with me in a few years, a few months—hey, maybe a few weeks, let’s see how much you miss me—and see if I’ve struck gold yet.”

“You think you’ll whistle and I’ll come running?”

He shakes his head. “Not exactly. But there is incentive, you know,” he waggles his eyebrows. “Besides… you came back to check on me once. You can do it again, eh?”

She considers it. Another surprise trip to Egypt in a year’s time, a drop by to Dylan’s apartment to check in on his illegal dealings and perhaps even other things, another week in sunny Cairo. Doesn’t sound too shabby. 

“Hmmm,” she says. “I might just do that.”


End file.
